


Wants and Needs

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Community: hp_rarities, Double Penetration, Draco Malfoy - character, Harry Potter - character, Infidelity, Multi, Pansy Parkinson - Character, Post-War, Slash, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:50:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A best friend knows what a best friend needs - a best enemy and a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wants and Needs

Happy Endings at the Pink Pearl Palace House of Comfort, All Night Launderette, and Jolly Luck Takeaway. The sign was a lurid, blinding pink, flashing through the cold drizzle that somehow managed to get straight down the collar of my slicker and find its way to the small of my back. I'm not sure how the proprietor managed to fit all the words into one sign, and god only knows I'm not sure why he or she bothered to name the place with such a bulky moniker, but it was worth it just for the look on Draco's face.

"Pansy." He turned to me, his upper lip curled back from his teeth, his eyes wide, and one eyebrow raised almost to the hairline that I hadn't yet mentioned to him was just a little higher than it was in our school days. "You _must_ be joking, woman."

I simpered at him, my pinky pressed to the corner of my lip and my eyelids batting fast enough that I could almost feel a small breeze on my cheekbones. "Don't know what you're talking about, darling. I promised you a fun evening, and I always keep my promises!" He rolled his eyes, practically rolled his entire head in the process, and before I even had time to huff at him in disgust for his lack of adventure, Mother Nature did it for me, with a great glob of water dropping off the awning and smack onto the top of his blond hair. He cursed and swore and scrabbled both hands through the soaked strands to squeeze the water out and down his neck, then jerked the door of the shop open and skulked inside, mouthing an imprecation at me through the glass. I didn't bother to wonder what it was, just blew him a kiss and followed.

I'd been looking forward to his reaction all day, and he didn't disappoint. His shoulders stiffened, his chin came up, his hands clenched at his sides. If I hadn't been wearing heels, I'd have bounced on my feet with joy, but as it was, I had to settle for a loud giggle that made his shoulders tighten even more. He turned, slowly, his eyes focusing directly on mine, and he started to open his mouth for what I was sure was going to be some rather filthy language. "Don't even," I said, holding one hand up, palm out. "Don't even start, Malfoy. You agreed that you'd put yourself in my hands, whatever I picked, and this is it. Come on, you _need_ this."

He did, really, especially since that Astoria bitch had left him. Well, got thrown out of the house. He caught her in his bed with the gardener, Scorpius' nanny, _and_ the Keeper for the Magpies, though I never was clear if that was in succession or all at once. If she was anything like Daphne, though, the latter was more likely. Still, he'd been moping for far too long since then. Not really over losing her, of course, I knew him too well to ever think that, but just in a general sense of being able to mope. I loved him dearly, always had, but the fellow did have quite a tendency towards being a drama queen. I'd fed that plenty in my younger days, hoping for a beneficial reward after school - the big house, the impressive name, the huge bank account - but it had been clear by the time we were both seventeen that I wasn't what he was looking for. Astoria wasn't either, but apparently she had a little less pride than I did. Definitely fewer braincells.

"It's a massage parlor, Parks." He gestured around at the brightly-lit lobby we were standing in, the orange and white tiled floor we were dripping on. "I may not know a whole lot about Muggle things, but I know what 'massage parlor' is a euphemism for. We have those in the wizarding world too."

"Maybe I brought you to the takeaway half of it, think of that? Third. Portion. Whatever. Or the launderette. I think it's very rude of you to automatically assume that I brought you to the massage parlor, and by the way, exactly _how_ do you know about wizarding versions of those, and is it possible _that_ is why you didn't want me joining you on holiday when we were fourteen?" The instant pink blush that flared across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose gave me enough answer, even as he tried to stammer through my little speech. Not that he could, of course. I'd picked up that trick before we both even hit puberty. Just keep talking, just keep going, and eventually he'd do whatever I wanted just to get me to shut up.

Three doors led off the lobby and I walked towards one of them, still chattering away about inconsequentials and pretending offense at Draco's automatic assumption. He was right, of course, but I could hardly let him know that straight away. The man needed a few holes punctured in that ego of his from time to time, and I'll always been the best woman for that particular job. He followed me sheepishly, his boots scuffing on the tiles, and I led him past the receptionist, sauntered down a corridor lined with posters of ballet dancers and bullfighters - the owner didn't have the best taste in art, sadly - and paused outside a shut door with an 'in use' sign hung rakishly on the knob. Draco sighed - much too loud and dramatic, in my opinion - as he came up behind me and I turned to him with one finger pressed to my lips. "Shush, darling," I told him in a whisper. "Your adventure awaits."

I pushed the door open, standing aside to let Draco have a clear view, and smiled to myself when the prone figure on a table inside raised his head and messy black hair got shook out of deep green eyes. Draco's voice strangled on a curse and I cackled under my breath, bounding forward to hug him with glee. "Surpr--" was as far as I got before Draco whirled and dashed back down the corridor, doors slamming against walls in his wake.

Both hands on my hips, I stomped one foot. Damn, but he was fast. "Well," I grumbled. "Not the reaction I'd been hoping for at all." I pointed at Potter, who had sat up and was staring in myopic confusion, and shook my finger at him before turning to stomp out after Draco. "I'll get back to you."

* * *

It was a week before I saw Draco again, before he showed up at my door with his hair and clothes askew, the musky scent of cologne not quite covering up the harsh smell of whiskey. He leaned on my door frame, eyes bleary and red, his fingers wrapping in my collar before I could ask him what the hell he was doing, his mouth against mine before I could protest. I'd seen him like this twice before, seen him in these straits, and I responded exactly then as I had previously, gave him what he thought he needed.

It had been years, but I remembered, and I bowed my head into the pillows, my hands clenched in the sheets, while he fucked me from behind. His fingers gripped my hips hard enough that I knew I'd be bruised for days, the marks of his hands purple on my skin. He fucked me hard enough that the bed frame rattled, the headboard scuffed the wall, every thrust matched by a small whimper from him. When he groaned deep in his throat, the sound was painful even to hear, and he slumped onto me, small drops of liquid spattering between my shoulder blades. One slipped over my shoulder and fell to the pillow next to my head, and it was too thin and too clear. I twisted to look at him, found his eyes open and brimming, his jaw working without sound until he managed to get a grip on his voice.

"I can't, Pansy. I _can't_." He gestured wildly at himself, where he'd softened and slid out of me, his hands trembling as he ducked his head in embarrassment and locked his fingers together. "I can't do this. Not like _this_."

I rolled over and sat up, both hands cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing away a drop of moisture from his skin, not really surprised. He'd been drunker than this before, and managed perfectly well, but it wasn't the alcohol that was stopping him. "I know."

Asking what I knew seemed to be beyond him, but his eyes were resigned, as if he'd given up on pretending finally. He grasped my wrists, still shaking, the tremble in his hands moving up his arms and into his torso until he was almost vibrating, there on his knees. I lay back, drew him down into my arms, his face burrowed into my neck. Legs twined together and his arm over my waist, I shushed him without answering, let him clutch me close while he surrendered to years of regrets and repression. "I'm your best friend, Draco," I murmured when he'd eventually worn himself out and slumped against me in sleep. "I always know."

I had for years. Draco had no problems shagging a woman when it came to it - a few tumbles with me over the past decade and the birth of his son had proven that - but once his duty to the line was assured, I'd started seeing old actions cropping up in him again. A few lingering looks that he tried to hide, a slightly too fervent discussion here and there that he couldn't quite disguise behind a re-emergence of an old rivalry. Then Astoria cheated on him, an uncontested divorce got pushed through without too much scandal, and I started talking to Potter whenever I happened to be at the Ministry. It didn't take much to dig up the truth behind Potter's side of that years-long antagonism, and I started my negotiations.

Once Draco left in the morning, silent with both a hangover and the pretense of that night never having happened, I took my tea into the sitting room and curled up on the sofa, both hands wrapped around the mug. This was going to take more work than I'd expected.

* * *

Potter's office at the Ministry was practically a disaster zone, papers everywhere and framed certificates and awards hanging at all angles on the walls, dust in the corners and a spider busily claiming territory across the top of a bookshelf. I sat on the edge of a chair, fingers drumming, and when Potter finally staggered in, I snapped at him. "You know, I'm not certain which is messier, your desk or your hair."

"Hello, Pansy, pleasure to see you, what a surprise that you're at my office, please have a seat." Potter's voice was flat, a little resigned, and he slumped into the chair behind his desk, swiveling it slowly as he stared at me. "Why _are_ you here?"

"Draco."

Potter's shoulders stiffened, though he kept his face calm. "Don't think there's anything to talk about on that subject, thanks."

I sighed. So that's how it was going to be. Still the stubborn little twit he'd been all through school, refusing to believe that maybe someone might just have his best interests at heart. Or several inches lower down, whichever happened to be most available. Fine, whatever. "I hear Ginny's pregnant again."

He looked down at his desk, idly shuffling paperwork that he probably hadn't looked at in weeks. "Yes."

"Yours, I'm assuming?"

"_Yes_."

It was no big secret that Potter's relationship with the youngest Weasel was about as gossiped over as mine had always been with Draco. She loved him, that was clear, but she'd never been willing to settle down to the happy homemaker life that her mother had demonstrated so well. After a few years of arguing, breaking up, getting together, arguing some more, breaking up again, they'd finally worked out an agreement that kept them both satisfied. She had a thing against monogamy, he had a thing against not sleeping with men. Came in more than handy for my purposes, at least. I leaned back in the chair, stretching my legs out and staring at my shoes as if they were the most fascinating things on earth. "So, since wifey's gone all Department of Mysteries, you're fr--."

Potter blinked at me, eyes almost as round as those ridiculous glasses, and interrupted. "Department of Mysteries?"

"Access denied." Potter slammed a stack of papers down and I hid a smirk. It was terrible fun to find those sore spots, I had to admit. "So, you're free to fuck Draco."

"Look, Parkinson. I'll admit I thought it was an interesting offer. Once. But we tried it, and he freaked out and ran like he always does. It's not worth my time. Plenty of blokes out there who don't fly off at the first sign of trouble."

"Plenty of blokes whose trousers you've been dying to get into since you first figured out what a cock was for?" This time a quill stabbed deep into a parchment, tearing it, and I didn't bother to hide my second smirk. "You want him, he wants you, I don't see what the big deal is. I'm the one doing all the work here, setting up the meetings and getting you two the chance to get off with each other."

"What are you, his pimp?"

_My_ shoulders stiffened and I stared at Potter long enough that he dropped his eyes and muttered an apology. "I'm his best friend. I want him to be happy. He's had several bad fucking months recently, and I just want him to get a good fucking." Sitting up again, I leaned forward, meeting Potter's eyes and letting a slow smile flirt at the edges of my mouth.

He wanted to be convinced, I'd known that since the first delicate conversation on this topic, and he just needed a little push. Something a bit different than the half-dozen liaisons I knew he'd had over the years. "I need you to fuck my best friend, Potter, and I want to play, too."

The quill snapped in half, ink spattering everywhere. I smiled again. Got him.

* * *

It was convenient that Draco was too arrogant about wizarding superiority to have ever bothered to learn the layout of Muggle London. That helped loads when I took him out for dinner a couple of weeks later and 'accidentally' ended up in front of the same building with the same gaudy pink sign and the same expression in Draco's eyes. This time, I shoved him into the lobby without bothering to wait for his complaints. It had taken me enough effort to calm Potter's ruffled fur and arrange schedules that I wasn't going to put up with any bitching. It could have been curiosity that made Draco follow me down that corridor, could have been him wanting to get me alone long enough to have a good shout, but I didn't care. When I pushed open that same door again, I quite literally kicked Draco through it with my boot on his backside.

Potter was leaning against the padded massage table with a towel wrapped around his hips, his glasses at the end of his nose and his arms folded across his bare chest. "Malfoy," he said with a nod of dismissal to a young lady with too much makeup and too little clothing. She skittered out the door, giving Draco and me a wide berth and an embarrassed, knowing giggle. "Parkinson."

I greeted him cheerily and tried to shove Draco forward again, a little surprised that he didn't budge. Someone that skinny shouldn't be that heavy, but the man had apparently turned to marble. "No," he muttered, his voice tight, as if he couldn't get enough air. "Pansy, no."

Potter rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers on his arms. "Told you he wouldn't go for a second shot, Parkinson. Nice try, but this was a waste of time."

Draco made a soft noise that I don't think he noticed, and took a step back, shaking his head. "Pansy," he said again, his voice even tighter. A little fear was in it, though I wasn't sure what kind. Fear of rejection, fear of acceptance. Could have been either, both, or even more, but under that fear was a lilt that had made my name into a question, an unconscious desire coloring his voice.

I've seen people who truly want something. Are desperate for it with every fiber of their being. Aching and pained, anguish clear in their eyes. Reaching for that last burst of strength, the searing burn in their muscles and their bodies focused on that one, final goal. That's what I saw in Draco, what I had seen in him for years. He'd been straining for too long, and I loved him too much, and I was tired of being the only person who had the answer to his need. I stepped up behind him, both arms sliding around his waist, feeling his entire body trembling against mine. I had to stretch up on my toes to reach his ear, but he bent his head to me automatically, familiarity making him move without thought.

"You want this, love," I murmured to him, feeling his fingers lock onto mine almost in a convulsion. "I know you. I know you want this. And you need it." I dragged my hands out of his grasp, down his hips and along the front of his trousers where I could feel him already stiffening behind his zip. I bit his earlobe and gave him a slow stroke, pressing my palm along him from root to head, and he shuddered, the smallest of gasps slipping out of him. "You've wanted this for years, Draco, and now's your chance. You're willing, he's willing, and I swear to you by every hair on your pretty blond head, if you don't go for Potter tonight, I will never speak to you again."

Maybe it was my tone, maybe it was the words, or maybe he just needed permission to do something he'd wanted since he was thirteen and all he could talk about was how badly he wanted to get Potter back, but Draco tore out of my arms and flung himself across the room to where Potter had only enough time to brace against the table. Draco wrapped him in an embrace that was so tight I could hear someone's spine pop and their kiss was rough enough that I was hesitant to believe one of them wasn't going to get hurt. When they broke apart, I realized I was right, and one of them had bitten the other, both sets of lips red with pressure and a touch of blood.

Potter's glasses were tilted on his face, hanging by just an earpiece, and he ripped them off and tossed them away to clatter under a cabinet against the wall. He and Draco came together again, hands between their chests and fumbling at Draco's shirt, tugging it free of his waistband, scrabbling the buttons loose until it slithered off his shoulders and onto the floor. They paused then, Potter's head bowed, his eyes on Draco's chest. I knew what he was staring at, had touched and traced it more than once myself, and Draco's sharp inhale was as familiar to me as the motion of Potter's hand as he trailed a finger down Draco's chest and the long white scar across it. "I'm sorry," I heard him mutter.

Draco laughed, humorless and short, his head shaking. "Finally I get an apology for that. I'd have kissed you years ago if I knew that's all it took." He pushed Potter's hands away from his chest, away from that scar he hated but kept as a reminder of the mistakes he'd made. Potter started to speak, and Draco brought his head up, glaring with such virulence that Potter's jaw shut with a snap. "Don't," Draco mumbled, shifting his hands to smooth around Potter's waist, fingers dipping under the edge of the towel and making it loosen and slide low. "Don't talk. No apologies, no stupid Gryffindor determination."

Potter knew why I was still there, and Draco had temporarily forgotten me, lost in his silent exploration. I moved up beside them, resting a hand against the small of Draco's back, feeling the tremble that shook his entire body and made the tips of his hair quiver against the knob of his spine. His skin was warm, almost hot against my palm, and I slowly stroked up his back, trailing over the long ridge of his backbone, pressing into the sharp point of his shoulder blade. He stilled with my movements, swallowed hard and looked over his shoulder to watch me, and with my free hand, I reached up and pushed on his jaw, turning his face back to Potter.

Potter leaned forward and Draco leaned back and I slipped behind Draco, pressing up against him to keep him from moving further. Both hands around his waist, stroking the tense muscles in his abdomen, tracing the edge of that scar from memory, I held on to him, held him as he set his jaw with a grind of his teeth that I could hear. I touched my forehead to his shoulders, stared at the pale length of his back, and slid my hands lower, brushing over his waistband and down his hips, my fingers gradually edging closer together. I heard the beginnings of another kiss, this one more tentative, more exploratory, and I smiled against the hot skin of Draco's back when the tension in his body shifted as his breath quickened.

Under the ridge of his zip, Draco was rigid, stiff and hard beneath my hand. As he kissed Potter, I unfastened his trousers, spread the edges of his flies wide, and slipped my fingers under the fabric. Nothing underneath those trousers but Malfoy, as he did so often, disdaining the concept of underpants with the arrogance of a wizard who preferred robes at home, and I scratched my nails through a soft patch of hair that I knew was only slightly darker than on his head. The sound of the kiss I couldn't see paused for a moment, then one man murmured something unintelligible to the other, garnering an almost inaudible response. Both men's voices had thickened, dropped and gone ragged, making which was which too difficult to tell. Not that it mattered. Draco had wrapped his arms around Potter and Potter had wrapped his around Draco, his hands resting on my back, and except for the small distance between their hips, we were a mishmash of limbs and breath as it was.

Draco's cock twitched when I dragged my nails down his length, pulsed in my hand when I lifted it vertical and free of the fabric of his trousers. He whimpered softly, the sound muffled in Potter's mouth, and I stroked him slowly to make that whimper emerge again. Draco was trembling, quivering against me, and he seemed frozen in place, unable to move forward and take that final step that would let him have exactly what he'd wanted so very much for so very long. He needed a push, needed a little encouragement, and it was clear I was going to have to do it for him. I kept his cock in my grasp, stroking slow, gently urging his foreskin back and running my thumb over the head to spread small beads of precome over his skin. I slid my other hand over the tensed muscles of his stomach, slipped across the almost non-existent space to Potter's hip, and hooked my fingers in the towel to yank the knot loose. Only the weight of the material had been holding his cock down, and when the towel fell, he pulsed and lifted straight into my hand. I gripped him tight and started a simultaneous movement on both men, two downstrokes, two upstrokes, unhurried and firm.

Draco shuddered again and Potter's hands tightened on my back, his nails scraping over the fabric of my shirt and catching in the seams. The men were solid in my hands, one thicker, one with more evident veins, but both were hot and heavy, twitching against my palms. I leaned into Draco's back, urged him forward with a murmured encouragement, edged him up a step until I felt my fingers brushing knuckles as I stroked the men. With an adjustment of my grip, the slightest change in how I held them, I was able to bring their cocks into contact. Potter gasped and Draco hissed, trying to back away. I moved them apart, quick, immediately letting go of Potter and sliding my hand up Draco's chest to press over his heart. Beneath my palm, his heart was racing, pounding so hard that it seemed to be vibrating his ribs. "No, Pansy," he muttered, his voice soft enough to make me stretch up on my toes to hear him. "No, too much."

Potter became invisible to me as soon as I heard that tight and frightened sound in Draco's voice. I'd heard it several times in our past, but even the night Potter had given him that scar and he lay there all night waiting to die, even then I hadn't heard him so worried. I moved around him, shoving Potter aside with one hip, taking his place in front of Draco to glide both hands up Draco's chest and neck, cup his cheeks in my palms. His eyes were closed, closed tight with the lids trembling, and I patted his cheeks gently, smoothed my fingers over his jaw. "What's wrong, love?"

Potter grumbled, moving around the edge of my view. "Told you this was a bad idea, Parkinson. He doesn't want it, despite what you think."

"I _do_." Draco's words snapped, his tone as sharp as his father's could sometimes be. He brought his hands up, clutching at my wrists. Softening his voice, he went on. "I want this. Maybe you were right and I need it. But I can't ... not that much. That close. I've never done this before." He opened his eyes, the grey of his irises only a thin ring around his arousal-dilated pupils. "Pansy, I need your help."

They were words that were rarer than a rich Weasley, and they stabbed me through, my heart stuttering and my breath catching in my throat. I looked up at him, my arms slid around his neck, and I dragged him down into a kiss, bodies pressed together, his cock hard against my stomach. "I need your help, Pansy," he repeated, holding me close. "I need you and I want him, and I don't know what to do."

"Threesome, Malfoy?" Potter stepped up beside us and I broke the kiss, resting my head on Draco's chest, his heartbeat thudding in my ear. "Doesn't really seem to be your style."

"It's not." Draco and I spoke simultaneously, and I reached up to put one finger over his mouth, turning to Potter. "He's not going to admit it himself, but I've known this man since he was sleeping with a stuffed Kneazle named Mister Mittens." Ignoring Draco's offended gasp and mutter - _His name was _Monsieur_ Mittens, and he was from Paris_ \- I kept my eyes on Potter. "He learns best by example. Malfoy see, Malfoy do." There had been more than one reason Draco had been so much like his father, but that wasn't the time to go into it. It was the time to show Draco what he wanted to do and how to do it.

Potter held both hands wide, mother-naked in front of us, unashamed and with absolutely nothing to be ashamed about. Good for Draco. Stepping forward, I reached out and grasped Potter's cock again. Behind me, Draco moved up as well, his hands on my waist. As I stroked Potter slowly, watching his eyes start to glaze, the lashes flutter, Draco rubbed against my back, his hips shifting to press his cock between us. One of his hands fisted in my shirt as he watched over my shoulder, his breathing rough on my ear.

In the next several minutes, Potter had backed against the table for balance, my shirt had grown damp where the tip of Draco's cock touched me, and Draco had laid one hand over mine, following my movements. He bent to lick and suck at the side of my neck, pushing me closer to Potter with his own body weight. When I moved close enough, he raised his head and murmured against my ear. "Kiss me."

I knew that order wasn't for me, and either Potter did too or he didn't care, because he leaned forward. The two men kissed over my shoulder, the soft sounds of breathing and slick noises of tongues pulling me closer to Potter until my head rested on his chest and my hand, joined with Draco's, moved fast and strong. During their kiss, Draco gradually pushed my hand out of the way, and I clung to Potter's hips as Draco took over.

Potter's gasp, recognizing a new hand on him, a new touch, was muffled in Draco's mouth. His hips moved, shifted to push himself through Draco's fingers, and Draco's hips moved as well, his cock hard and thrusting along my spine. I released Potter to tug my shirt out of my skirt, intending to let Draco rub directly on my skin, but he slid his free hand down my thigh and pulled at the skirt itself. I nearly purred as I lifted it the rest of the way to my hips and adjusted my stance, setting my feet apart.

Draco adjusted too, bending his knees and sliding his cock between my thighs. Potter broke their kiss and pushed up to sit on the table, and I leaned forward to follow him, angling my hips, lifting my arse, and biting my lips against a groan when Draco slid into me with an embarrassing ease. Looking down let me see Potter's cock in Draco's hand; looking up let me see Potter's open mouth and widened eyes. He was breathing rough, in rhythm with Draco's strokes, both of hands and hips. Thrusts, strokes, breath and heartbeat, all of it rose and sped, the three of us linked together, the two of them with locked eyes.

Draco shoved into me harder and I dropped my head, staring down to watch his fingers tighten and glide over Potter, who had started to make a breathy little grunt on each stroke. "Since you're down there, Parkinson," he muttered, and I thought that was a fine idea. When Draco's hand slid low enough, I leaned down and fastened around the head of Potter's cock, sucking with my teeth trapped behind my lips. He groaned, Draco groaned, and the two men both grasped my hair, fingers wrapped around the locks and making me add a third groan to the mix. Neither was stupid enough to tug and pull at me, or neither had enough blood left in his brain to think of it, but it wasn't necessary, regardless. We moved together, a hesitation here and a pause there, until the three of us found a rhythm that matched.

* * *

It was well after midnight when Draco and I finally left Potter outside the Happy Endings, with a kiss to the cheek for me and a far more intimate kiss for Draco that I was quite certain was going to end with one of them shoving the other up against the wall. It came very close to that, but a passing taxi full of drunken students and their wolf-whistles finally separated the two men. As Draco and I walked down the street, with a bit of a weak-kneed waver in my step and a definite satisfied strut in Draco's, we glanced at each other out of the corner of our eyes. He tightened his jaw, I bit my lip, but eventually neither of us could help it, and we both grinned like ... well, like Slytherins who'd got what they wanted.

Draco laughed first, then snatched me up and swung me round and round, his arms around my waist. I clung to his neck, smiling down at him, at his eyes that were shining more brightly than I'd seen in years, at the carefree smile I hadn't seen on him since before our sixth year at Hogwarts. "Thanks, Pansy," he said, lowering me enough to kiss the point of my chin. "I'd needed that."

"I know, darling." He set me down and I reached up to pat his cheek, then took his hand and tugged him back into a walk. "You _did_ get the young man's address, correct? Now that he's stolen your honor, I have to make sure he does the right thing by you."

Draco smirked as - I wouldn't have believed it possible - his strut and posture grew even more satisfied. "Yeah. While you were in the loo, taking damn near forever as per usual, set up a date for next week." He glanced over his shoulder at the pink sign still highly visible despite actually being around a corner, and he licked his lips before grinning at me. "Might get some takeaway."


End file.
